178 Different Words For Rain
by Jixie
Summary: Following a personal tragedy, Grilka and Quark travel to Ferenginar to handle some affairs. If a bird and fish were to fall in love, where would they live?


178 Different Words For Rain

By Jixie 2/2018

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine © Paramount Television

* * *

"Here you go, Morn. This one's on the house."

Morn looked up, startled, but Quark waved a hand before he could get a word in.

"What can I say? The IKS yIH yIbaqwI' is docking as we speak. Which means... well, you know what it means."

It meant Grilka was back on the station. Over the years, their on-again-off-again relationship had evolved into a strange routine. Matters on Qo'noS were complicated. This arrangement gave her a no-obligations, no-pressure outlet, and Quark was always more than happy to be at her disposal. The once or twice a year visits had turned into almost quarterly expeditions.

She was a little late, it'd been about six months since her last visit, but they weren't exactly on a set schedule. He beamed when her adviser and right-hand-man Tumek finally entered the bar, and began pouring the Klingon some of his reserve 2309 bloodwine.

"Tumek! How's the old war wound treating you?"

He quickly sobered up when he saw Tumek's dark expression. Gesturing across the room to Briok, he made it clear they should be ready to call security at any moment.

"You look like someone died."

"Someone has," Tumek agreed, as he took a seat. Morn stiffened, while Quark leaned on the counter and handed Tumek the drink.

A awkward silence followed. "Well?" Quark demanded. "Is Grilka okay?"

"In time she will be." Tumek paused, hesitant. "For now, she is grieving the loss of a son."

Quark inhaled sharply, speechless for a few seconds. "That's... that's _terrible_. My deepest condolences."

Through the wave of pity was a small stab of anxiety— in the back of his mind he scrambled to remember if Grilka had ever talked about her children. He could've sworn she didn't have any... but that might have been his own inability to fathom Klingon maternal instinct.

"I've come here at her behest, to... make arrangements."

This, he knew well enough. This was that old familiar song-and-dance of Klingons asking for help without asking for help, or just offering compensation like any reasonable person would.

"Of course. Let me know what kind of 'arrangements' you need, and I'll see what I can do."

Tumek stared at his glass as if he was trying to make it dissolve.

"Your people believe in reincarnation, do they not?"

"Uh, we," Quark stumbled over his words as the conversation took a turn. "We, ah... yes. Yes we do." Which was something of an oversimplification.

Finally, the older Klingon took a sip of his bloodwine. "It's not doctrine, but you'll find most of us believe something like that for the very young. Those who die before they reach the Age of Ascension."

There was a slow building sense of despair as Quark realized they were not talking about the grown 'warrior son of Kozak' he'd imagined. How many years had Grilka been widowed? Klingons matured far sooner than most humanoids, but how quickly? The numbers didn't quite add up. No, she must have taken on a Klingon boyfriend at some point. And why would she tell him? Their arrangement was a strictly no-ties, no-commitments, no-problems affair: it was none of his damn business.

"Either way, there is no place in Sto-vo-kor for infants and the unborn." He swigged the blood wine this time. "Lady Grilka wishes to arrange the Ferengi ritual for parents to bargain their child's reincarnation."

This was slightly out of his wheelhouse. Rom was not as devout, nor Ishka for that matter, but they would have a better idea of what was involved. Quark raised his palms, wrists together, in apology.

"That's not exactly... Do you mean the Rite of Inveigling? That's..." He paused to collect his thoughts. She had a miscarriage? "Look, Tumek. I'll take Grilka to Ferenginar if that makes her feel better, and I promise when we get there _someone_ will be more than happy to take her money. But what you're talking about... Bribing the Blessed Exchequer is a recourse for Ferengi to get their spawn into the doors of the Divine Treasury. There's no guarantee for a Klingon— that's not a bribe, it's a scam."

For all of three seconds Tumek glowered, exasperated.

Then his face softened to pity.

Bottles clattered against each other— the noise sudden as it was loud— as Quark backed into the shelves.

He held up his palms again. "She'd just be taken advantage of." His voice was pleading, but the look in the Klingon's eyes made it clear just where he'd miscalculated.

Grilka had been here, on Deep Space Nine, around six months ago. With him.

She'd just had a miscarriage, or lost a newborn child.

She wanted Quark, of all people, to do a Ferengi religious service.

The numbers were finally starting to add up.

Tumek gulped down half the bloodwine, slamming the cup down with typical Klingon fervor before wiping his face off with his sleeve. "I appreciate your concern." He stood and placed his payment for the drink down. "But her child _was_ Ferengi."

The shelf was digging painfully into Quarks shoulder, but he stood there for several long minutes after Tumek left, the slips of latinum neglected on the countertop.

Morn opened his mouth, hesitated, and then gazed down at his drink. For once, he had nothing to say.

* * *

The story came together in bits and pieces, each worse than the last.

Grilka was already on her way to Ferenginar, she'd sent Tumek with a small crew to fetch Quark separately.

She'd spent the last few months in and out of Federation hospitals— and other, more questionable facilities— getting hormonal therapy for herself and DNA resequencing treatments for the fetus.

In the end, it had only prolonged the inevitable. The chromosomal differences were too great. The pregnancy was not viable. If it had been planned, if she'd gotten pretreatments, if she'd had resequenced the egg, if, if, if.

It hadn't been a miscarriage after all, but the preterm infant had not lasted the night. Which, somehow, Quark felt was even worse.

Afterwards, she'd had the body prepared in the traditional Ferengi method. There were only three disks.

The thing Quark couldn't wrap his brain around was _why_. Reflecting on it, he could remember Grilka talking about how she and Kozak chose not to have children— it hadn't been bias or an assumption. She'd refused to remarry and continued to buck tradition as long as he'd known her. Although she didn't share Quark's phobia of responsibility, she didn't seem interested in the kind of commitments that children required. Klingons did not have the same hang-ups over abortion that Bajorans or Humans did. No, Grilka had wanted this child... very much so. And for the life of him, he could not figure out why.

* * *

Since Rom was titled Grand Nagus, Quark had reluctantly gone back to Ferenginar all of three times. Each time his home world was less recognizable. Never in a million years would he admit it was for the better, but the truth was... it _was_ better. The new and improved Ferenginar was not without it's hiccups, but they were far more socially stable, quality of life had increased, which in turn improved their relationships with other planets and species. The women were adjusting nicely to their new lifestyles. The economy was adjusting nicely to the influx of new consumers. And the men were adjusting grudgingly... but they were adjusting.

'Nagus' didn't carry the same weight it used to, but Rom was still stupidly rich. Which made his mansion all the more infuriating. It was large, it was impressive, it was a masterpiece of architecture. But it was... bordering on subtle. The colors coordinated. The furniture was understated. The fixtures weren't latinum plated. There was not one— not a _single one_ — bust of Nagus Rom to be found. Quark blamed Leeta.

Leeta, who was a vision of Bajoran beauty. She shooed off the front door security guard and his liability waiver, the only one to greet Quark when he finally arrived. She was clearly surprised at the visit... Tumek said he'd sent a notice ahead, but apparently they hadn't gotten it.

"Quark! So good to see you again!" She was a damn good liar, he had to give it to her. "What brings you here?"

He rolled one of the desiccant disks around in palm— he hadn't put the thing down since he'd got them— and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Is Ishka here?"

"Aw, I'm sorry, but she just left with Zek for a long weekend in..."

Leeta drifted off as she watched Quark. He sagged, and the last fibers of emotional fortitude that were Holding His Shit Together dissolved before her eyes.

She hesitated for a moment before reaching out for a hug, and then buckled under his weight as he more or less collapsed into her arms. Awkwardly, she patted his back while he ugly cried onto her tits.

* * *

Leeta's second outfit of the day was ruined the same way— albeit less disconcertingly— when it was Rom's turn to sob brokenly in her arms while she tried to comfort him.

As depressing as the whole thing was, she braced herself. Someone had be there to support these two idiots. More importantly, someone had to be there for Grilka, and the Prophets knew Quark was not equipped to be that someone.

He sat clear on the other side of the room, his expression unreadable, occasionally tapping the desiccant disk against the table or absently rolling it in his palm. Leeta may not have been a Starfleet counselor, but she was pretty sure that wasn't healthy behavior.

When Rom finally pulled himself together, 'The Conversation' finally started. Leeta knew it was coming, but she dreaded it all the same.

"I KNOW you want be there for Rite. And trust me— I can't believe I'm admitting this— there's no one I want there, by my side, more than my little brother. But you wouldn't be there as _my brother Rom_. You'd be there as _Grand Nagus Rom_."

"Buuuuuut brother, wouldn't having the Nagus there make the clergy more receptive?"

"No," Leeta said, joining in. "Quark's right. I'm sorry sweetheart, but if you go it'll just make things more complicated."

"Thank you! It'll turn into this whole... _event_. It would be a media circus. 'Tragedy in the Nagus' family!' Besides, the clergy would have us over a barrel, because why _wouldn't_ the Nagus pay more for a higher tier of afterlife auction funding?"

"They wouldn't take advantage of a situation like this," Rom argued.

If Quark had rolled his eyes any harder, they would've popped out of their sockets. A silver lining, Leeta realized: arguing with your siblings was strangely revitalizing.

"Of course they will! They're the sacred representatives of the Blessed Exchequer. Taking advantage of tragic circumstances is their divine calling!"

Rom huffed, Quark huffed; they bickered and scolded. She was glad to see that Rom had grown more of a backbone when it came to Quark. Of course, the older brother would always have the edge, but Rom no longer took the abuse without firing back... or needing to be pushed to the brink.

Uri'lash, the Hupyrian steward who Rom mercifully hired after Brunt's short-lived Nagushood, fretted back and forth between the two quarreling Ferengi.

"No, I can't wait a few more weeks for Nog. Think for a minute, would you!?"

"You can't go alone, brother."

"What if you took Grilka?" Leeta asked, and immediately regretted it.

She had never, _never_ seen Quark look so scandalized in her life. Even Rom seemed uncomfortable with the idea. If Ferengi culture was weird and sexist and obsessed with money, Ferengi religion was a triple-distilled powerhouse of bizarre sexist materialism.

"Okay, scratch that, then. What about..."

"Actually, I was thinking about Grilka," Rom said, segueing the conversation. "There's this ritual that Moogie did with Prinadora after Nog was born, to uh, help her regain her strength. Is that something you might want to help with, Leeta?"

Leeta cocked her head to the side. "I don't know. What kind of ritual?"

Quark scoffed. "Female voodoo. Rom, don't be stupid. That hocus-pocus mumbo-jumbo is a bunch of crock, and Ishka knows it. She only did it because Prinadora wanted the attention."

"Well, now I'm intrigued. Voodoo?"

"It's not voodoo," Rom was getting defensive.

"Look," Quark said abruptly, tired of arguing. "I'm going to go. I'd like to get home before it's too dark. We'll sort this out tomorrow."

"You don't have go. You should stay here tonight."

"Nah. I'd much rather be in my old room than sleep in the worst Nagus mansion that's ever existed." He paused, eyes narrowing. "My old room is still there right? The house and everything is there?"

"Do you think Moogie would let anyone change it? Even the Nagus— me _or_ Zek?"

"Good point," Quark agreed, getting up to leave.

Leeta quickly cut him off. "Are you sure you want to go?"

" _Yes_. Now, please get out of my way."

Rom walked him out, and he exchanged a look with Leeta when he returned. "Did you call Moogie yet?"

Leeta nodded as she headed over to her husband.

"She and Zek haven't gotten too far." She gave him a quick, reassuring hug. "They're on their way back now."

* * *

Once he got home, Quark contacted Grilka's ship to invite her down, and quickly realized she was still avoiding him. Emotionally spent and unfathomably lonely, he went to bed in an empty home. The next morning he awoke to a house full of obnoxious but well meaning family. Rom and Leeta, of course, along with some of Rom's staff, the two rival Hupyrians Maihar'du and Uri'lash, as well as uncles and cousins he hadn't seen in years. Above it all, the screeching flirtation between Ishka and Zek, who'd turned back around the moment they got Leeta's message, despite Quark's insistence that they should just enjoy their trip. He hated to think what it cost them for the last minute cancellation and return to Ferenginar.

It was a nightmare: the noise, the chaos, Ishka being both supportive and aloof, Rom's periodic bursting into tears, Zek's horrendous sing-songy "Qua~ark"— the aural equivalent of a throbbing toothache.

Zek walked him step-by-step through the whole Rite of Inveigling, Rom tried to make a generous donation— which he steadfastly refused, and the rest of the family decided among themselves that Uncle Gorad and cousin Yuel would accompany Quark as his symbolic enforcers.

Towards the end of the day, Grilka finally arrived, with Tumek and several guards in tow. She gave Quark an uneasy hug and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead, before excusing herself to go lie down. Ishka tailed her, and the two had an animated conversation in Quark's room, which was well insulated enough that no one was able to eavesdrop.

Eventually things wound down and the crowd dispersed. The guests that were staying went to spend the night at the Nagus mansion, excepting Ishka and Zek (with Maihar'du), and the Klingons, who insisted they would sleep right on the floor— because _of course_ they would.

If anything, Quark was more drained than he'd been the previous day. He found Grilka in his bed pretending to be asleep and decided to humor her. Without a word, he crawled into bed next to her, careful to leave a good foot of space between them.

After a few minutes she rolled over, nestling up against him. He hesitated before wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

* * *

"Where... where did you even get this?"

Quark looked in awe— and confusion— at the sullen Klingon guard Vimoc, decked out in a colorful, ornate, high-waist jacket with tails, over an equally busy waistcoat and dress shirt, complete with 'contrasting but not matching' plush trousers.

"Never mind where," Tumek said dismissively. "It is appropriate dress, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, of course," Zek replied, chortling. "I've got to get a holorecording of this," he continued as he pulled out an imager. Vimoc's withering look made him pause, and he stuffed the imager back into his coat.

"I... can't bring him along for this," Quark insisted, still transfixed by the surreal sight of a Klingon in Ferengi clothes.

"Of course you can. Your stepfather informed us that this 'bribe' requires pretend 'thugs' to act as threat of a 'shakedown'. What better enforcer is there than a hired Klingon?"

Quark crossed his arms. "Zek is _not_ my stepfather."

Not officially— not yet anyway— but he'd deny it until it was legally irrefutable.

"Alright, I'll hire him. But listen, Vimoc... you're going to see a lot of things you're not going to like. Begging, pleading, cowering, groveling... It's pretty much the opposite of Klingon ritual is what I'm saying."

"I will not dishonor your customs. Even if they _are_ ludicrous."

"Good. Good. Okay." He glanced around the room, nodded at Gorad and Yuel, checked his pocket to make sure the desiccant disk was there, and turned to head out the door. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Vimoc had been on his best behavior, looming over everyone else like an intimidating statue. When they got back to Quark's house, however, he began ranting and raving.

"It was an outrageous spectacle! I was humiliated just being there!" He shouted at Tumek, at the other Klingons, at the terrified Ferengi. "The priests— the priests demanded sexual favors before they'd even hear our case!"

Zek waggled his brow ridge suggestively. "Oomox, eh? Well, you've got to butter them up first. Do you think they're going to help out of the _goodness of their hearts?_ Heh!"

"It was disgusting!"

"It was necessary," Quark said. He gave Zek a knowing look and tugged on his jacket lapels. "I got them in a listening mood, though, and earned myself a 10% discount for services. And Moogie said I'd wasted my apprenticeship..."

For a few moments, Vimoc looked like he might punt Quark out of the house.

" _Disgusting_ ," he growled, realizing with horror that Quark took a strange sort of pride in his skills, despite the humiliating exploitation.

Tumek sidled up to Vimoc, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Come now, let's get you changed and back to the ship. You've done your part, and you shouldn't have to endure any more of this indignity."

Quark shot Tumek a grateful look as he guided the fuming Klingon out of there.

With Vimoc gone, Rom practically jumped over and hugged Quark. "Well brother? Did they take the bribe?"

"Yeah." Quark fell silent, a distant look in his eyes. He'd _felt_ it, he'd felt the Blessed Exchequer accept his bribe, and he knew— he _knew_ — he'd gotten his son in through the doors.

And somehow... somehow it was a relief. There was still this pain, this grief for a child he'd never met, a life that was gone before it had begun. But this gave him a peace of mind, taking the edge off the enormity of it.

"Yeah," he repeated.

"Good," Rom said, quickly nuzzling his brother. Quark was too distracted to shove him away.

Gorad was talking to Zek, while Yuel went to scrounge up some grub. Rom steered Quark towards the courtyard doors. "Moogie said we weren't allowed to watch, but to send you when you got back." He gave his brother a gentle push before retreating back into the living room.

* * *

The courtyard has been transformed into a peaceful haven, delicate twinkling lights and soft billowing gauze draped from each tree. The rain was a fine mist, creating a perfect hazy atmosphere.

Ishka and Aunt Drusella, both comfortingly nude, had marked silver and gold colored symbols across the grass and pavement. Leeta, dressed only in her skivvies, was helping them as they painted the same symbols onto Grilka's body.

The Klingon woman stood proud. Her belly was still swollen from the pregnancy, and while she'd been treated to stop lactating, her breasts were still heavy from production.

She was radiant.

"Here," Ishka said, gesturing for Quark to come over. When he reached them, she shoved the bowl of latinum paint into his hands. "Make yourself useful and hold this." It wasn't actually useful, but he obliged. "How did it go?"

"Really well. The bribe worked."

"Good." She looked up and smiled. "I knew you'd do fine. You always seem to find a way to land on your feet."

He shrugged, and focused his attention on Grilka. She looked relaxed, but the truth was she'd been up late in the night, trying and failing to stifle her grief. He hadn't realized Klingons were even capable of tears. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I've spent the whole day undergoing ritual cleansing. I don't believe I've even been so pristine in my life." She shifted, examining the markings that decorated her right arm. They were glyphs that predated written language, inexorably tied to ancient customs that only Ferengi women practiced these days. "I never understood how your women could bear their oppression," Grilka said, and a wistful smile crept across her lips. "But I'm beginning to see they have a their own hidden culture, their own religion, their own language. That they have an impressive secret strength."

"Witchcraft and hooey," Quark replied, shaking his head. "Don't let these old bats fool you. Ferengi females are just as greedy, conniving, and perverted, as Ferengi males."

Ishka stopped painting and placed her hand over her heart. "Quark." She looked at him, teary eyed. "My dear child. I can't believe you said that out loud, I'm touched."

"Well, don't let it get back to D.S. Nine," he said, and huffed. "I have a reputation to maintain." He glanced at Leeta, both thankful for her support, and amused at her attempt to compromise between the radically different ideals of Ferengi and Bajoran modesty. "Rom doesn't deserve you, you know."

Leeta snorted and shook her head. While she didn't go as hard as she could, she couldn't help but instinctively fire back. "Well Quark, I suppose you're entitled to your idiotic opinion."

To everyone's surprise, Grilka choked as she tried not to laugh.

* * *

Afterwards, the ladies dressed and went back indoors— except for Drusella, always the stubborn traditionalist. "Put some clothes on," Ishka hissed.

"This is my sister's home," Drusella replied, "I wouldn't dare—"

" _I'm_ your sister and you _will_ dare because I said so."

Drusella huffed, but realized how distressed Tumek and the other guards were, and relented. "Fine, if only for our off-world guests."

Traditional Ferengi meals didn't exactly require a lot of prep time, so it wasn't long before dinner was ready.

Rom had been quizzing Tumek all day, and pounced at the opportunity to chat up Grilka.

"So? What do you think of Ferenginar so far?"

"This is a strange, but entertaining little planet," Grilka said.

"You should stay!" Rom replied. "Aaaaaat least for a little while."

"I'm not sure how much my crew would appreciate that."

"But you didn't say no! You could stay at the mansion... it's really nice."

Tumek smiled. "It wouldn't be that bad. The weather's abysmal, but the food is surprisingly good, the booze even better, and there's plenty of entertainment for the crew to get into."

"They're Klingons, they're just going to go wreck someone's holosuites—" said Quark.

Ishka interrupted him, too excited to wait. "You like the Gree-worms, then?"

"It's no gagh, but it's better than any human cuisine I've tried."

"There's no heat, it could use some spiciness," Grilka added, "but the flavor and texture are quite nice." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe we should spend a few more days here."

Quark tried not to look too excited. After the last few days, he was eager to get back to Deep Space Nine and do his damnedest to forget all of this and how awful it felt... But the idea of spending some quality time with Grilka— on Ferenginar of all places!— was too much.

The night wore on, and the drinks flowed freely, and little by little they all got slightly wrecked. They reminisced and laughed and joked and bonded. Zek told the story of how he first met Quark and Rom. Rom shared how he and Leeta fell in love. Tumek recounted how he'd come to serve in the House of Kozak.

Grilka told them about the time she'd strangled Quark, and how he'd been medically dead for a full two minutes before Dr. Bashir was able to resuscitate him.

The others were appalled, until Quark reassured them that this hadn't happened during a _fight_ , but rather, in _flagrante delicto_. Their horrified expressions changed to— well, a different kind of horrified. Except for Zek, who leered and hooted, and Ishka, who started lecturing on practicing safe masochism outside the holosuite.

They carried on late into the night, and it was near dawn when Grilka finally half dragged, half carried Quark to his room.

* * *

"I'm a coward."

More asleep that awake, and a little hungover, the best response he could muster was: "Uh?"

"I... acted cowardly."

Grilka lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling with laser focus. Quark propped himself up on his elbows to look at her, slowly coming out of his stupor.

"What? That's... no?"

She frowned. "In doing so, I've dishonored myself. I've dishonored you. I've dishonored my people—"

"Oh for the love of— no. _No_. I've had enough of Klingon bitching and moaning about freakin' _honor_." He flopped down face first, and then in a sarcastic whiny tone added, " _Hoooooooonoooooorrr waahhhh_."

It was her turn to sit up. Flattening out her hand, she struck him with a well placed jab below the ribs. He groaned and rolled over to face her, with a sulking glare.

"When I discovered I was pregnant, I..." She paused and looked away. "It frightened me. Instead of facing that fear with h— with courage, I hid from it."

"Grilka, it's totally normal to be afraid of being a parent. Seriously, ask Rom."

"It wasn't that." She leaned forward, her thick mane obscuring her face, and reached out her hand to take his. "Do you remember when you faced D'Ghor?"

"Of course."

"My father used to tell me that it is easy to find a mate in good times. Most people are good partners when things are going well. It's those who come through for you when things are going bad... they are the ones that are true parmaqqay." She hesitated. "I kept thinking about that, and about you, throwing down your bat'leth and facing D'Ghor... ready to die for something that held no value to you, but meant so much to me. And I realized that I didn't want a child with _Kozak_ , but I wanted _this one_."

"I get it. Hey— I _get it_. We're both adults. I really like this thing you and I have— I mean, I really like it. But it's not— we couldn't—" He struggled to express his thoughts. "There's this old human expression, right? It goes 'a fish and a bird could fall in love, but where would they live?'." He paused. "And that's us. That's the reality of it."

They sat in silence for a long time, both alone and together all at once.

"I should have told you."

"Yeah, but so what? Grilka, you've been through enough as it is. You _lost a child_. I know how awful I feel and I still can't imagine what sort of hell you're going through. A part of me wishes I could've been there for you, but you know what? A part of me wishes you'd never told me about it at all."

She didn't reply, so Quark sat back up and hugged her shoulders.

"Don't beat yourself up over this stupid Klingon honor thing. Please. I forgive you— so forgive yourself already."

"You're too forgiving," she scolded him, changing the topic. "Not just for me. Towards everyone. You should hold a grudge every once in a while, it would toughen you up."

"A grudge towards who?"

"I don't know, someone like Brunt."

"Brunt! How do you even know about that?"

"Leeta told me." She craned her neck to look at him.

"Yeah well, Brunt was just doing his job..."

"He tried to destroy you. You wouldn't have let him get away with doing that to anyone else."

He frowned. "Look, do you have any idea how many stupid things I've done in my life? How many stupid things I _still do_? If I can't let Brunt off the hook, I can't expect others to do the same for me."

Grilka shifted, resting her head against Quark's chest, and quickly changed the topic again. "Your pajamas are embarrassingly awful."

"Yeah," he agreed.

There was another pained silence. Then, finally, Grilka asked the question that had been weighing on her mind for the past few months.

"If our son had survived, would you have come to Qo'noS to raise him?"

His knee-jerk response was 'no', but the truth was...

"I don't know."

* * *

They stayed on Ferenginar for the rest of the week.

Quark was frustrated by having to pay a few slips of latinum to do even the smallest things. Grilka was quietly amused by pretty much every aspect of the Ferengi experience. Tumek lived it up— it turned out he really enjoyed gambling, and managed to do quite well for himself.

Not a fan of their women's fashion, Grilka had a Klingon style dress made in bold Ferengi fabric. Quark took the opportunity to make some new connections and invest in some ill advised schemes. And, as predicted, the rest of the Klingons spent their time reenacting famous Klingon battles in some poor schmuck's holosuites, damaging the devices in the process.

When he finally got back to Deep Space Nine— _home_ — the first thing he did was get into the bar's floor vault. He'd given one of the three desiccant disks to Moogie, because that just made sense, and sold one to his little brother. Unlike Quark, Rom dutifully kept disks of every deceased family member, no matter how tenuous the relationship was: second cousins and third aunts and second-uncle-twice-removed and great-great-great-great- _great_ -grandparents...

There was only one— now two— in Quark's collection. He placed his son's disk next to Keldar's, locked up the vault, and got ready to open the bar.


End file.
